


The Railroad

by OptimisticJamie



Series: Soul Survivor: Hazel Moore [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, I dunno?, Secrets, just making this up as I go along really, more character building I guess, possible deacon/sole romance budding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7396558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimisticJamie/pseuds/OptimisticJamie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was unsure if it was a wise decision to follow the Freedom Trail, but here they were, standing at the deadend of a pre-war catacombs in the middle of the Commonwealth with nothing but a holotape and a scrap of paper with two conjoined words scribbled with a hasty hand. He watched as she turned the dial, the stone scraping and sliding in loud protest until the wall clicked and swung open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Railroad

**Author's Note:**

> In which I write Hazel's journey to the Railroad. I guess kind of continued from "Call Me a Safe Bet"

MacCready kicked aside the destroyed wooden crate with a scowl and a huff. He bent down to sift through the pockets of the raider the boss had successfully blown back into a table, thus the reason for the bits of wood and debris covering the body. 

He pulled a packet of dandy-boy apples from the back pocket of the raider's jeans and what looked to be a crumpled and torn hat. The man's pipe rifle was useless to the boss and himself, so he kicked it out of the way with the toe of his boot before moving to sit on an old rusted desk and watch as his employer continued to search and store everything she could get her hands on. 

The boss was a vaultie, he knew that. The news had come as quite a shock to MacCready and he did not know how to broach the subject again. His uneasiness must have shone through, for Hazel continued to ignore his attempts at small talk, so he sat quietly, keeping his damned big mouth shut against her annoying habit of hoarding everything she found. 

It was after she straightened, an adjustable wrench in her hand, that he even attempted to say something; "Just leave it." What he intended to mean as a light hearted joke escaped sounding more annoyed and exasperated. 

Hazel jerked up and looked at him, eyebrows raised so high they practically disappears into her hairline, "judging by the fact you enjoy hot water at every settlement, you can't object _too_ badly to my hoarding habits." 

She was angry at him. He honestly couldn't understand what he had done wrong, but he knew she did not want to talk about it. 

MacCready resigned himself for another night of silence, first watch, second down, cold breakfast, when Hazel suddenly lost the bite in her tone; "Do you ever feel like you're being watched?"

The question took him so off guard that he almost didn't realise that she wanted a response, "Uh..sometimes?" 

”Hmm." Hazel hummed, looking up through the broken roof of the building with narrowed eyes, "come on, let's go." She adjusted her pack on her shoulders and led the way back out of the building onto the street, they had cleared the area of raiders a few hours before so their trek back to their camp was uneventful. 

”Boss, about being watched, it's possible that you're feeling a little paranoid--I mean, we've been in Sanctuary for over a week now, being this far into the combat zone would out anyone's hair on end." MacCready tried to explain. 

”It's not just a general feeling, I mean I can _feel_ someone's eyes focused solely on _me_. It's unsettling." Hazel countered. She disarmed the mine she had left on the doorstep of the mostly intact building they had spent the last couple of nights in before shoving open the door with her shoulder. The steel screamed in protest as it scraped across the concrete floor and the pair froze, looking around with wild eyes on the off chance someone had heard. 

When nothing moved for several heartbeats they relaxed and entered the building, pushing the door closed and barricading it with a heavy wooden beam and a tripwire. 

The luxury of sleeping in a heavily armed and closed off room meant that they could cook their dinner, keep the fire going to ward off the cold, and chat quietly without having to fear someone would come knocking uninvited. Hazel quickly set about lighting the fire with a lighter she had found in their last visit to vault 81, she had taken it straight from the pocket of the security guard at the top of the lift with nothing more than a polite smile and a bat of her eyelashes and MacCready once again had found himself grinning uncontrollably at the sight of her smoking as soon as they stepped outside, the shiny new lighter clutched loosely in her hand. 

In the pot on top of the fire was a mix of carrots, tatos, and the last of their radstag meat. It was their last night in the tiny room before they pushed for Goodneighbour early the next morning, carrying with them correspondence between Hancock and Fahrenheit, old weapons and mods to sell to Daisy and, if Hazel was feeling brave enough, KL-E-0. MacCready was also hoping for a letter from Duncan, the last letter he had sent to his son had been with the departure of his cure over a month ago and he was eager to here if the boy had improved. 

He must have been lost in his own thoughts, for sooner than he realised Hazel was pushing a bowl of broth into his hands. She had gotten better at cooking with wasteland resources. He remembered when they first sat down to dinner and they had eaten dried Brahmin meat that was a few days too tough and extremely chewy, the next few days weren't much better; raw carrots, a melon the next night, and, after a gruelling fight with a mirelurk, over cooked crab meat. 

Now, her cooking was much better. Sometimes the meat was too tough, but he wasn't going to complain about it too much; after all, they were probably trying to fight off scavvers at the time of the meal. 

They ate in relative silence, MacCready keeping an eye on the door while Hazel kept an eye on the only other window. The window was boarded up and set with a plasma mine, so there was really no need to be glaring at it as intently as she was. He theorised that if he should poke her, she would jump three feet into the air. 

So he tested that theory. 

Instead of jumping in fright like he hoped, she merely turned her glare on him, though it was more of a confused stare than a glare. He shrugged, a smirk crawling over his face at her continued confusion. He finished his bowl of broth before dropping the crockery into the now empty pot and grabbing his rifle. 

”I'll take first watch, boss." He announced. 

”Mac, you can stop calling me 'boss'." Hazel insisted. 

”Sure thing, Moore." MacCready responded, winking before he took the creaky old seat by the door, resting the barrel of his rifle in a hole in the wall before leaning forward to peer through the scope. During their time in Sanctuary MacCready had persuaded Sturges to improve the sights on his trusty weapon by simply listening to the man as he tinkered away. 

Sturges could talk the ear off a Deathclaw, he always had something to say. It was a never ending stream of stories, ideas, conversation, and gossip. It had been so long since MacCready had the chance to simply _gossip_ that at first he didn't realise what Sturges was talking about until the man mentioned Deacon. 

”I heard he's from some undercover organisation." Sturges half whispered, half shouted to MacCready as he hammered the casing for the scope together. 

”What, Deacon? No way, the man's too proud of himself for that." MacCready responded. 

”Thats exactly my point, think about it, a man as outspoken as he must be workin' for someone." 

After that exchange MacCready couldn't look at Deacon the same, every time he caught his eye he quickly looked away, pulled his hat down to cover his eyes. He always whooped for joy when Hazel informed Sanctuary that they would be leaving the next morning. 

It didn't take long for the woman in question to wrap herself into her bedroll and force herself down, her rifle an arms length from her face and her pack propped under her head as a pillow. The sky had just darkened when they decided to turn in for the night, the more sleep they got the better and the only way to manage that was to bed down early, so MacCready peered through his improved scope, pleased at the magnification and delightfully surprised at the night vision it offered. He still carried his old scope, he simply slid the new one off and replaced it when the sun rose again, so he did not blind himself through misuse of the night vision scope. 

Hazel, however, had splurged and built herself a large, square shaped recon scope. As they paused to suss out new areas, he felt his scope to be inferior to the wide range her's offered. Maybe he should bride Sturges for a recon scope too. 

Maybe next time. 

The first half of the night passed without much incident. MacCready found himself sitting back in the chair, entertaining himself by building a house of cards on the closest flat surface he could manage, that happened to be he table his rifle was leaning against, when he heard a rueful moan. 

His heart suddenly beating very quickly he slowly and carefully leaned forward, positioning his hands on his rifle, one finger hovering over the trigger, the other hand steadying the barrel as he pressed his right eye into the scope. His heart very nearly burst out of his chest at the sight of what was staring back at him. 

A pack of ferals was making its way down the street, in the opposite direction Hazel and himself were heading--back towards Dimond City. Among the pack was a putrid ghoul who's flesh had all but fallen off long ago, it's withered muscles the only thing keeping it together. Well, that and all the fungus-like growths over its body, casting an eerie green glow over everything as it moved. 

The filthy thing had stopped and was staring up at the top of their ruined building, as if contemplating a window display at a pre-war mall, or a weapons rack at Bunker Hill. MacCready found himself holding his breath, praying that the thing would _just keep moving_. 

His prayers were answered when another low moan emanated from a ghoul further up the procession and the festering thing turned its attention to the noise, stumbling down the street with the rest. 

MacCready's card house had fallen over, so he scowled and walked over to Hazel, her left arm flung out perpendicular to her body. Carefully he removed her pip-boy and sat back down, determined to beat her high score in Red Menace. 

When the clock on her pip-boy signalled 2am, MacCready shook her awake and they traded places. This time Hazel sat peering through her newly improved scope, smiling at herself as she barely had to nudge her rifle to the side to see what was happening further up the street. MacCready had warned her about the ferals, but she doubted they'd be heading back down the street unless something caught their attention. 

It was just as the sun began to break that Hazel found herself with a cigarette between her lips and her feet propped up on the table. She exhaled her breath slowly, watching as the smoke drifted up from her lips to dance in the air before dissipating, chased away by her harder, clearer, breath. She pulled herself out of the chair and rouse MacCready and the pair set off for Goodneighbour.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's pretend that Deacon is so deeply undercover that Hazel has no idea he's Railroad.


End file.
